


Intent

by Mohini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drug Use, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohini/pseuds/Mohini
Summary: Sometimes it's not about what you're doing, but why and how it's being done.





	Intent

Awareness returned slowly. His face felt too warm, his body exhausted beyond belief. He could feel the tremors rolling through him without pause, and someone was wailing, a high, keening noise that couldn’t possibly have been coming from, no, definitely coming from his mouth. There was a steady pressure around his chest and back, someone murmuring something far, far away and yet right by his ear. No. This was not happening. A nightmare, a terrible, horrible nightmare. Hopefully soon someone would wake him. Surely he had disturbed at least one of the others in the dormitory by now. Someone would be coming soon to wrench open the curtains and shake him awake.

“Draco, breathe for me, come on now, you’re going to pass out at this rate, come on, just take a breath for me. I know you can,” someone was saying, their voice soft but so, so familiar. Wait. No. Not in front of the others. They had sworn not to. No one could know. Death Eater and Saviour. It had to be kept a tightly protected secret. 

Something was at his lips, a bitter liquid suddenly flooding his mouth and he gagged. His lips were held shut and someone tilted his head backwards, forcing him to choke and swallow down the vile potion despite his compulsion to get it out, out, out. It made him feel so heavy, and in moments he realized what it was. Harry had dosed him with Somnium. 

When he came back around, it was to those same arms still holding him, and he could hear the steady beat of Harry’s heart against his ear. “There you are,” Harry said quietly. “Give me a color.”

Draco had laughed, the first time Harry suggested it, telling him it sounded like some sort of dreadful 2 for a knut romance novel. Then he had the first horrible panic attack during sex and the colors stopped being silly at all. 

“Yellow,” he whispered. His voice was raw, everything hurt.

“Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to give you anything?”

“Ativan,” Draco replied without pause. Harry kept a stock of Muggle anxiety medications, bless him, and unlike the potions that mostly just upset his stomach, the tiny little tablets actually worked. 

He heard the whispered charm, and the pills were in Harry’s hand, pressed lightly to Draco’s lips. He swallowed them down without prompting, accepted the sip of water from the tumbler, then closed his eyes and focused on the steady, soothing sound of the heartbeat that provided him an anchor more often than not these days. 

They stayed there, still and silent for a while. When Draco could finally feel the worst of the remaining panic fading in the wake of the medication, he looked around. They were on the floor of the Great Hall, which was completely empty. The letter, the simple roll of parchment that had set this all off was still on the edge of the table, just a few feet from where they were. Draco stared at it, and the tears that fell from his eyes went unchecked. 

“How long?” he asked.

“It’s nearly eleven,” Harry replied. Damn. The owl bearing the horrible parchment had arrived during the first few minutes of breakfast. 

“I’ll need to go home,” Draco murmured. 

“Blaise is dealing with getting everything arranged. I’m coming with you.”

“Everyone knows now.”

“Bound to get out eventually, Draco. I’m not ashamed of us.”

“Doesn’t matter now, anyway,” came the whispered reply, and he buried his face against Harry’s chest and cried. 

Blaise found them a while later, Harry wrapped around a still quietly crying Draco. He picked up his friend, holding him on his feet while Harry scrambled to his own, holding arms out for Draco as though he were a small child. When Draco stumbled, Blaise murmured the words of a featherlight charm and Harry picked him up as though he were much, much smaller, cradling him with long legs dangling as he clung tightly to the only thing in his world that felt remotely safe or solid. 

They made their way to the Headmistress’ office, where McGonnagal greeted them quietly. “I am so very sorry, Draco,” she told him. Draco nodded, clinging tightly to Harry and barely able to focus on the words. Harry led him to a settee, where he lay down with his head in Harry’s lap, tears still falling despite his effort to staunch the flow. He couldn’t follow the conversation around him, opting instead to close his eyes and let Harry’s hand in his hair be the only thing he remained aware of. 

It was minutes or hours later when Harry gently helped him back to his feet. The Floo was lit, but when Harry began to push Draco ahead of himself, panic came back with a vengeance. “No, no, no, please, no, can’t, please,” he repeated, frantic that someone understand, that they know he could not, absolutely could not be without the safety of Harry’s body near him. It was Blaise who spoke up. 

“Side along him,” he told Harry. “Here to Glasgow, Glasgow to Durham, Durham to the Manor.”

“I can make it in one,” Harry replied, and Draco looked at him with surprise. He knew full well how ridiculously powerful Harry was. He also knew that it was a secret Harry kept carefully guarded. He heard the Headmistress saying something about needing to release the wards so that Harry could Apparate from her office, but a moment later he felt the tight squeeze of the spell and they were standing in the receiving room of the Manor. 

“Gonna be sick,” Draco gasped, a moment before bile and acid were surging up his throat and onto the tiled floor of the receiving chamber. A house elf appeared instantly and the mess was gone before he had even finished retching. 

“Are you hurt?” Harry asked, kneeling beside him.

“No, no, just a little sick. Apparating makes me queasy in the best of circumstances. Traversing half the country in the space of a minute, yeah, um,” another round of vomiting interrupted what was intended to be a reassuring answer. Harry held his hair back from his face with one hand and wrapped the other arm around his hips, holding him steady as he sicked up on the floor again. 

When it was over, he sagged against Harry, who picked him up in that same strange cradle hold. “Just tell me where to take you,” he instructed. Draco whispered a command to summon a house elf, and it led Harry to his rooms. It should have been strange, having his boyfriend carry him into the shower, strip him down and wash him as though he were incapable of caring for himself. Instead, he lay his head on Harry’s shoulder and let the steam and scent of his soap soothe the lingering ache from both the panic attacks and the upset stomach. He was nearly asleep by the time Harry toweled him off and wrapped him in a dressing gown. One of the elves brought fresh clothing, and Draco watched with a sense of detached fascination as Harry helped him into the clothing before stepping into the shower and washing himself. Once they were both clean and in new clothes, they found Blaise waiting for them in Draco’s room.

“I’ve contacted your solicitor. He will be here shortly. The ministry will release her body back to you in a day’s time, after they have examined her. The solicitor will bring you the papers to transfer the immediate funds and holdings into your name, but you’ll need to go to Gringott’s to take custody of the vaults in their entirety. Your Aunt is coming, as well, and should arrive within the hour. She will take care of most of the arrangements and such.” Blaise kept talking, but the last two sentences boomed in Draco’s head with the ominous sensation of a funeral bell. Bells. Bella. No. No. No.

“Draco, shhh, shhh, Jesus Christ, Blaise, I’d just gotten him settled,” Harry both soothed and scolded. “Come on now, open those lips for me, that’s it, swallow, love, swallow it down,” Harry coaxed as he slipped another Ativan into Draco’s mouth, which should have been fine, but the bitter taste brought the mostly dormant nausea back in full force and he retched, clamping a hand over his mouth in an effort to force the pill down. 

“Pass me that,” Harry said casually, and a moment later a wastebin was beneath his chin and a torrent of liquid was gushing up his throat. “Alrighty, then, chemicals are a nope,” Harry commented. “Breathe for me, you’re fine. Bellatrix is dead, Draco. Blaise is talking about Andromeda, it’s going to be just fine.”

“Can’t,” Draco gasped out, his lungs seeming to shrink under the incredible pressure of the panic that was swirling around him and he dug his fingers into Harry’s arm in an attempt to ground himself. “Red. Fuck. Help me,” he sobbed, the shaking intensifying and he really, really felt like he was dying now. 

“I will kill you in ways no one has ever imagined if you breathe a word of what you’re about to see,” Harry said tightly to Blaise. The other boy nodded, watching as Draco hiccupped and vomit dribbled from his mouth, too far into the panic to even notice that he was sick. 

“Imperio,” Harry said firmly, and Draco’s eyes went immediately blank. “Breathe,” he commanded. Draco obeyed. Harry produced yet another Muggle tablet from somewhere and placed it at Draco’s lips. “Swallow.” Again the command was met with instant obedience. 

The feel of Harry’s will covering his own should have felt suffocating. It should have been a horrible sensation. It wasn’t. It was the safest, most perfect security in the world. No need to think or process or even try. All he had to do was submit. 

“That’s it,” Harry praised him quietly. “In and out, nice and slow. Let’s get you all settled down now, and then I’ll bring you back out.”

Blaise watched with wide eyes. He’d seen Imperius in action. Nearly everyone had at some point during the war. This was nothing like the spell he’d seen used. Draco was utterly, completely calm, breathing slow and deep and the color was gradually returning to his gray face. A few minutes later, Harry led Draco into the bathroom and cleaned him up. When they emerged, Draco obediently lay down on the bed, while Harry perched on the edge and spoke softly to him. 

“I’m going to bring you out now,” Harry finally whispered, before releasing the Imperius. Draco blinked up at him, before quietly offering his thanks.

“I’ve said it before. I don’t like doing it, but I will always do what you need me to, Draco. Always.”

“I love you,” Draco whispered.  
“I love you,” Harry told him, kissing him softly. Blaise stood rooted to the spot before them, eyes wide and shocked.

“Damn,” he said, still staring. 

“Not a word, Zabini,” Harry spoke, his voice bearing not a trace of the gentle tone he was using with Draco. 

“Who’d believe me? The fucking savior making fucking imperius look like a god damned calming charm. I’ve been under that spell. It’s anything but gentle and you make it look like the greatest act of kindness in the world. No one would ever believe it. I’d find myself in the nutter ward at St. M’s before I could finish the sentence,” he argued.

“All spells are dependent upon intent. None are inherently evil. It’s the Ministry that made the call on what was ‘unforgiveable’ and what was perfectly fine. I can kill with a goddamned disarming spell, so why can’t I help him with one of their unforgiveables? It’s the intent, Zabini. Nothing more.”

“I’ll grant you that. How in hell did you figure out that it works that way, though?”

In answer, Draco lifted one thin wrist, rolling the cuff of his jumper and the oxford beneath it up to his elbow. A thick, deep scar was clearly visible against the ink of the Dark Mark. “Like this,” he said in answer. “Sometimes I’m not safe with my free will.”

“My god,” Blaise whispered. 

“In case you’re wondering, it can’t be cut out. Not even if you go down to the bone.”

“Draco,” Harry said in a soft voice that brought Draco’s attention immediately to him. 

“Green,” Draco replied. “I’m good for now. When is Andromeda arriving?” He rolled to sitting on the bed, then to his feet with a hand on Harry’s forearm to steady him. 

“Any moment now,” Blaise replied. “Alongside the solicitor. Apparently your mother and Andromeda had a contingency plan for anything happening to her.”

“She would. Mother never left much to chance. Let’s get this over with. Can I have another pill, Harry? I’d rather not fall to pieces in front of anyone else today.”

“You’re maxed on the Ativan, I can give you a Xanax, though,” Harry told him. Draco nodded his agreement and took the offered tablet. 

“Do I want to know why you’ve a mobile chemist in your pocket, Potter?” Blaise asked.

“Probably best you don’t, really,” Harry replied. “Saviouring isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, sometimes. Takes the edge off. Little necessities, they are.”

“We’re all mad here,” Draco muttered under his breath. 

“Clearly,” Blaise replied. “What is it the Muggles call them? Child soldiers? I think we all fit the description fairly well.”

“Soldiers, pawns, no real difference,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand in his and walking toward the door. “You’ll need to lead the way, love. Afraid my last tour of the Manor was lacking the finer points.”

Blaise watched incredulously, trying to understand the complete change in Draco from shattered mess of grief to the banter between him and Potter, finally giving it up as an impossible job and just following them to the receiving room. 

By nightfall, all necessary papers had been signed, a goblin had been brought to the Manor to get the papers signed since they refused to grant Harry access to their premises and Draco would not go without him, and Andromeda had fussed over Draco and Harry before finally retiring back to her home with baby Teddy, who she had left with Molly Weasley for the day. Blaise was sequestered in a guest suite, and Harry and Draco were alone once more. 

“You’re going to have to knock me out completely,” Draco said as he changed into his night clothes.

“Not a problem. Somnium or something stronger?”

“That potion tastes like ass. Haven’t you a Muggle tablet that will do the job?”

“Geodon and Ambien should work well,” Harry replied, two pills appearing in his hand.

“How you’re not a certifiable junkie I will never know,” Draco told him.

“It’s all in the intent, love. It’s all in the intent.”


End file.
